FOR SALE

The strains of Mendelssohn were wafting through the mocked up French windows and over the entwined couple. The eventual sound track would be anything but, however Steve Delaney, the director, was a Classic FM freak so they had to pump and grind to whatever. Even the adverts.

“OK,” Steve shouted, having eschewed the ‘cut and action’ shibboleths of the industry.

‘MONEYSHOT’ was still in its infancy, this indeed being the pilot, but it would go on to become the super long runner of Reality TV. It bonded home makeover with porn and the ubiquitous gambling of ‘now it’s time for you to have your say’ at 25p a word.

Daytime TV with a watershed twist.

The show claimed to rejuvenate the flagging sex life of a hapless couple by turning their tired old home into a sexy love nest. The live sex sequences that book ended the show were always filmed first in a mock up of the couples ‘new’ and sexy bedroom.

“Alex, darling,” Steve opined, “you look like you are having a baby, not making one. It’s supposed to be enjoyable.” Hapless husband Alex had grunted and strained his way through their first full on porn sequence only to shoot unexpectedly when the floor manager carelessly brushed his arse with her clipboard. It was these odd casual encounters that were setting his heart racing. When Peter from ‘makeup’ had shaved his sack, crack and back, his wet hard-on had screamed humiliation.

“Relax, relax,” Peter from ‘makeup’ had said, throwing him a lifeline. “It’s the same for everyone the first time. It’s all right. You’re not gay.” That day Alex had been close to tears so many times that ‘makeup’ was having trouble hiding the puffiness. “When it comes to porn,” Steve the Director had once said, “you just can’t hide that look of humiliation.” That is why he always did the face shots first.

The loss of the ‘cum shot’ or ‘reveal’ as they were choosing to call it, had caused widespread consternation amongst the production team. They would now either have to buy a cum sequence to superimpose over the bedroom ‘reveal’ (costly) or the flailing and ailing cock of our hapless husband would have to be pressed into service one more time at the end of the day. They had failed to get a decent penetration sequence and Beryl was resistant to a retake with a stunt cock.

“Amateurs,” Steve had grumbled, rather missing the point. One of the runners had agreed to fill in for Alex as a cock shaft but not for the cum sequence as they had a circumcision mismatch. There was also the condom issue. What had made the show such hot property was its’ bareback credentials without the whiff of snuff movie about it. Benjamin, the stunt cock had been certified HIV negative earlier that day but everyone knew that in this scenario it meant nothing. “I’m straight,” he kept saying until finally someone told him to shut it.

“If we can’t get this down in the next twenty minutes, it’s a no go. We’ll move onto Tracy and Dave.” Beryl’s eyes flickered like she was waking from a long dream. Their make over was about to be cancelled. She bit her lip and looked across at the runner and stand in dick; a tall, lean 20 something with an Australian accent and no foreskin.

“Alex,” Beryl whispered desperately. “I’ll do the penetration shot, but,” she said, grim determination lining her face, “you have to do that jack off shot before we finish.” Alex could feel his dick shrivelling beneath him, despite the head splitting effects of the two Viagra. “Get off me,” she hissed. Alex clamped a hand over his dick and struggled with the other to push himself free. He looked across at the Director. Steve could see he was close to tears and it pissed him off. Porn was for pro’s.

“She’s doing the stunt shot,” Alex said and stumbled off set.

“The stunt shot?” Steve said.

“The cunt stunt shot,” Beryl tried to clarify. She’d said the C word and she was mortified. She was also not making sense. She was sweating now and the body makeup was starting to run.

“Right!” Steve said, but now Australian Benjamin, the cock de jour, was nowhere to be seen, apparently off making tea for the crew.

“Right,” Steve said again about ten minutes later. “We are going to make this short and sweet.” He was looking down at Beryl. Body makeup was being reapplied. “We will pan down from a side shot of your face and in one take swing found the back for the penetration. So keep your legs wide. As soon as Benjamin is in position we will start. 20 seconds and you are done.” Beryl was flooded with hope. It could all be over sooner rather than later. Benjamin had been whitened to the same skin tone as her husband and was none too pleased about it.

“Keep your stomach relaxed,” Steve warned dick stand in. “I don’t want hubby ending up with too much of a six pack.” The lights were in place and as they burned into life Beryl started to fry. She closed her eyes and for a moment was able to blot everything out. Nothing had meaning. Everything was purely sensation. A clock started to tick in her mind like the last scene from Village of the Damned and she could no longer hold back the thought:

“When will he start?” She felt ‘makeup’ mopping the sweat from her left armpit and in the same instant became aware of the pain in her lower back. She had been arching it for what seemed like an age in order to lengthen her stomach, giving her a leaner look, but now she seemed to be going into spasm. She opened her eyes and glanced amongst the constellation of lights for Ben. He was nowhere to be seen?

“For fuck sake!” she could here the director saying just inches away. He had started out all smiles and niceties. Now he was irritable and cruising the borders of vindictiveness. “Fluffer,” he shouted. “Any takers?” Beryl raised her head and could see an anxious looking Ben in a bathrobe. She glanced about till she caught the eye of ‘makeup’. He raised his eyebrows and drooped is lower lip but Beryl was non the wiser.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“Ben’s as soft as your husband, Beryl. We are getting nowhere at eight grand an hour.” Steve seemed all at once to have given up. You can’t fake a hard on, and without one to hand, hard porn was just sitting around with cups of tea.

Much later in the series most of the hardcore sequences were patched in from HD home video recorded by the couple in private. This was Beryls’ idea and she never got a penny for it. But until her innovation was introduced the set could be a living hell.

“What is a ‘fluffer’,” Beryl asked to no one in particular.

“The lucky boy or girl who gets to blow the porn star till he’s hard.” Peter in ‘makeup’ was looking disconsolately over at Benjamin and almost imperceptibly shaking his head. Beryl looked at him and wondered.

“Peter,” she said. “What are you thinking?” He twisted his mouth round to one side in a lopsided pout and bit the inside of his lower lip. He seemed to be wondering the same himself. He flashed her a roguish smile but said nothing. Beryl wondered if Peter would stretch to a bit of ‘fluffing’ but then thought better of it. “Fuck it,” she thought to herself. “I’ll ‘fluff’ it.”

At that moment the lights went and the cramped studio was thrown into stygian gloom. While the sparkies set to work the happy home makers convened for a quick quarrel.

“Look,” hapless husband Alex was saying. “You are letting that Aussie bloke fuck you, why give him a blow job as well?”

“I’m not ‘letting him fuck me’,” she retorted. “You are.” Beryl’s face was red and Peter in ‘makeup’ was eyeing her nervously, a powder puff at the ready. “You’re impotent Alex,” she blurted out half under her breath and just for emphasis she lowered her voice further: “You’re fucking impotent,” she repeated. Alex’s face went slack and for a moment his mouth fell slightly open.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Alex asked rhetorically.

“We’re getting our house redecorated. What do you think?” Beryl retorted. “We’re having a makeover. So,” she continued, “instead of standing there like a prize cunt get on with it and give that boy a blow job.”

“Oh fuck off,” Alex said. He was as happy as the next man to think outside the box but this was a box too far. “And,” he continued, “I am not impotent. You are just sex mad.”

“I don’t think so Alex,” she said, a tinge of defeat in her voice. “Twice a week?”

“Well,” he replied. “Usually it’s not with a caste of thousands.” Alex glanced across at Peter and Beryl followed his gaze.

“What are you looking at?” Peter said, springing out of some private reverie. The earlier unspoken suggestion seemed to be back in the air and everyone could smell it. Peter batted it away.

“I’d do it of course but me and your husband are not compatible in this one I suspect.” It was an excuse, but true too.

“Well,” said Alex grasping the wrong end of the stick, “I’d much prefer Peter to have his way than bloody blond boy Ben.”

“Yes,” Peter in ‘makeup’ said. “There is something about me that’s just less threatening. Must be my bald patch.” As he spoke a contingent was making it’s way over from the Ben camp.

“Could you help out?” It was the director speaking and he was pointing his question at Beryl. “We don’t have another woman available.” Ben was enjoying his new role of porn star and unbelievably was now chewing gum and nodding his head in agreement. Alex coughed to get attention.

“Peter has very kindly agreed to step in,” Alex said.

“No way José,” Ben replied. “I’m not gay.”

“No,” said Alex. “That’s not what I meant.” There was an audible sense of relief all round. “I think Peter said he’d be the stunt cock.”

“I said no such thing,” Peter responded. “When did I say that?” He caste his head about, as if expecting to hear the echo of some earlier incriminating conversation.

“Right!” said Beryl. “I’m sick of this. Alex… You give Peter a blow job and let’s get this over with.”

“I happen to be in a monogamous relationship,” Peter stated flatly.

“So am I,” said Alex.

“Right,” said Beryl, “and I’m the Virgin fucking Mary.” Nobody moved. “Oh come on Peter,” she wheedled. “No one will ever know.” Another moment passed while this small group tried to process that last concept and then, with perfect timing, the Director spoke.

“Agreed,” he said and turned from the group. “I want the whole bed area screened off,” he shouted. “And everybody, bar lighting and camera… Out!”

Later it occurred to all and sundry that if Alex needed a blow job then Beryl could have provided. Rationality had however been in short supply and had finally dried up all together.

Three days later when the production company called to arrange the home makeover, they found the place empty. In the middle of the garden was planted a large and new looking sign. It read: ‘For Sale. Vacant Possession.’